The Wedding
by Kiki Cabou
Summary: Just a light piece of fluff about the most endearingly bad-ass couple I've ever seen on television.


This is the ending that, in daffier moments, I imagine for Michael and Fiona on _Burn Notice_. I absolutely adore BN and have been a faithful fan since it premiered. I wrote this a while ago. Just found it again and decided I still like it, so here it is.

(Burn Notice does not belong to me.)

_The Wedding_

They were married at sunset under the dubious officiation of Seymour. The sea had gone a deep purple at the horizon line, and everyone was shading their eyes from the last fiery rays of daylight except for Michael, who'd had the sense to keep his aviators on. The groom calmly glanced at the rose petals scattered under his feet and adjusted his collar. Sam was Best Man, so the two of them wore crisply ironed white Cuban shirts and tan khakis. Each man also had a .45 tucked in his waistband, but they tastefully kept their shirts hanging out over their weapons to hide them. It was a mark of how laid back and sensible Fiona was being about this wedding that they'd been able to pass off a couple of Sig Sauer P228s as their big "matching accessory." ("Come on, Fi, it's like the spy equivalent of cufflinks!" Sam had wheedled.) For a moment everyone watched the palm trees sway as the breezes blew in off the ocean. The orange and red lei around Michael's neck ruffled gently.

A vision in white appeared across the yard.

Seymour was perched ludicrously on an apple crate, which he had decided would make a very nice altar. He saw her first and frantically started waving his arms and then snapping his fingers at his bodyguard who, as usual, wasn't paying attention.

"Psst! Jackass! _Now_, man!"

Jackass was seated a few feet away with a pair of bongos between his knees; he took the hint and began to thump away with great emotion. The guests – all four of them – stood up as Fiona began her ceremonial march to the marriage spot, which was really just a slow walk around the perimeter of the pool. She did this while gripping a bouquet of tiger lilies. Her hair was pinned up sweetly in a bun and her lovely white dress billowed out like a cloud, silhouetting her tiny frame as she moved into the wind towards Michael. When she arrived he took her hand, unable to stop smiling. The guests sat down and the couple nodded at Seymour to begin.

Nobody would have pegged Seymour as minister material. It was probably the unruly facial hair, the obvious mental instability and the wild brown eyes. Nobody would have pegged Seymour as a professional arms dealer either, but that's what he was, in spite of his gangly, pot-bellied physique and exuberant personality. At his core though, he was something else altogether: genuinely sweet, usually willing to help, borderline worshipful of Michael's abilities, and totally convinced that Michael and Fiona belonged together. So when Fiona had explained the situation and showed him her engagement ring, he was thrilled to lend his splendid Spanish-style beachfront home, as well as his recent ordination, to their cause. Of course, his actual words were:

"Wow. Badass Michael Westen and smoking hot Fiona Glenanne, making it official. All right! Yeah! What did I tell you, man? Destiny. Well, congratulations. I am _so_ there. Oooh! You two can get hitched in my pool! Water ceremonies are _huge_ right now. Very fashionable."

At which point Michael had looked at Fiona with his patented "No way" face, and Fiona had looked at Michael with her patented "No sex" face, and now here they were, going through with it, although thankfully the original plan of "in my pool" had been amended to "next to my pool."

"Love," Seymour began, trying to orate a little bit, "Well, love is like C-4."

That got the couple's attention: Fiona's with the C-4 remark, and Michael's because he was curious to see what idiotic if well-meaning direction Seymour's mind would take during this improvised opening statement. Most _real_ ministers would be launching into a well-planned marriage sermon right now, but Seymour had gone online and gotten legally ordained for thirty bucks and some change, which meant that this ceremony would be enough to marry Michael and Fiona in the state of Florida, but aside from the "With this ring" part and the "I now pronounce you" part, the specifics of which he'd printed off the computer and shoved into his pants pocket, he had no idea of what he was doing. So he rambled on rather poetically about love and trust and how they were like explosives for a few minutes, which amused Michael and Sam and Michael's brother Nate and Michael's mother Madeline, and apparently made no impression at all on Fiona's friends Liam and Katya, who sat stone-faced through the verbal meandering until the sun fizzled out. The outdoor lights sensed the change and turned on right as Seymour finished. Michael took off his shades and hooked them into the pocket of his khakis.

"And those … are my thoughts about that. Welcome, honored guests, to the wedding of Michael Westen and Fiona Glenanne, which has been _way_ too long in coming."

Madeline began to clap, feeling the need, and everyone else joined in politely. "That was lovely, honey," she encouraged Seymour.

Seymour actually blushed. "Thanks, Mrs. W. Okay, here we go. There's supposed to be some kind of questions of intent, but, eh, screw it. That's boring. We all know why we're here, right? Michael, would you like to make your vows now?"

Michael swallowed slightly. He hadn't actually written anything. Between the three back-to-back jobs in the past two weeks, taking care of the legal things like a marriage license and, drum roll please, sealing the deal on a modest white fixer-upper in El Portal, _and cosigning with Fiona_ (he was still wrapping his mind around that), there just hadn't been time. So he improvised.

"Sure," he said, and he kept it simple. Taking Fiona by the hand, he looked her in the eye. "Fi, I promise to love you for the rest of my life. And I promise to not do anything too stupid if I can help it. And I'll pick up my socks." He thought for a second. "And I'll split the cooking."

Fiona raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him. "Aaaand?"

He knew what she wanted to hear, and gulped. This was going to be a hard one. "And I won't keep secrets from you." Sam actually snorted at how ludicrous that was. "Okay, that's impossible. How about this? I _will_ keep secrets from you, but only if knowing something will compromise your safety, or you need plausible deniability. But I _won't_ keep secrets from you just because it's convenient. I respect you too much for that." Fiona smiled and he smiled back, because it was true. "Best I can do. Is that all right?"

"That's very much all right," Fiona said. Her voice was a little thick with emotion. She kissed his cheek.

"Nice, Mike," Seymour complimented. "Fiona?"

Fiona had written her statement on a small piece of paper that she'd folded up and tucked into the bosom of her dress. She plucked it out and wiggled it so it unfolded flat. Michael caught a glimpse and saw that there were really just a few words there.

"Michael, dearest," Fiona read, "You're it. Now because I know you secretly have doubts about this, and because you're also the most endearingly _stubborn_ man I've ever met, I will willingly spend the rest of my days helping you understand that you are indeed the one great love of my life."

And with that, she folded up the paper and put it back in her bosom. Michael blinked at her … and opened his mouth without thinking, which was never a good idea around Fiona.

"You really needed to write that down? I mean, that was kind of short."

Madeline gasped, Katya snickered, and Fiona snapped, "I'm nervous!" She sounded rather persecuted.

"You didn't even make any promises!" Michael complained. It was like they'd forgotten they were supposed to be getting married.

Fiona snorted. "I'm the woman. I don't have to make promises. That's _your_ job!"

Madeline and Katya were giggling now, and all the men looked at each other like they'd been caught in an emotional vortex. Liam, being an insatiably curious sort, risked his pride and leaned into Katya. He whispered in her ear, "Kat, what's she blabberin' on about?"

His brogue always got a little thicker when he was puzzled by something. Liam was straight out of Belfast and looked it, no matter how much sun he got or which city he stayed in: alabaster skin, dancer's physique, short red hair, piercing blue eyes. He wore wire-rimmed spectacles and a diamond ear stud, and once, long ago, he'd had a thing for anarchy and a dangerously beautiful woman named Fiona Glenanne. Very wisely, he'd gotten out of the IRA before everything went south and escaped to New York, where he'd started a moderately successful restaurant. He had just opened a second one here in Miami.

"I'll tell you later, darling," Katya purred back, letting her consonants growl and her German roots peek through. Katya was born in Berlin and had worked there for many years. She knew both Michael and Fiona from various jobs in the area, and was fond of them. Even when they weren't on the same side of something, the three of them had always figured out a way for things to work out well for everyone, at the very least making sure no one got injured. Ironically enough she'd been burned too, about seven years ago now, never found out why, and decided it was a sign that she should return to finish the medical degree she'd started before her stint in the intelligence community. Since Liam was down here babysitting the new restaurant, she was working in a free clinic near Little Havana.

While Liam was tall and lanky, she was petite and athletically curvy. Stick-straight chestnut hair and round, expressive brown eyes set off the defiant curve of her nose; she had some proud Rom in her. They made a very striking couple. It was coming up on three years for them.

"All right, people, settle down, settle down. Here comes the good part," Seymour said. "Sam, the rings, please."

Michael gave Fiona a rather embarrassed smile and she gave him back a rather cross look that promised some "discussion" later. Sam ignored their silent squabble and proudly stepped forward with the ring box. He winked at them both. Madeline gripped Nate's arm and gave it a squeeze. Nate, knowing what was coming, dug around in his pocket and got a hankie ready. Katya and Liam held hands for luck. Seymour cleared his throat.

"We're gonna keep this short and sweet, kids," he announced, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and shaking it out. Some lint escaped in the process. "Michael and Fiona, would you please join hands?"

They did as instructed, and Michael felt his back get a little tight out of nerves, because he'd never actually done this before, and knew with absolute certainty that he never would again. He would happily be spending the rest of his life with Fiona. And as for this ceremony, there had been no rehearsal, no rehearsal dinner, nothing. A quick discussion with Seymour about an hour ago (inside the house, away from the windows), and the ceremony was good to go. They were keeping this whole thing as quiet as possible in the interests of time and safety, thus the simple ceremony and the low guest count.

"All right, hands joined, check," Seymour mumbled. He began to read. "_There is a history with regard to the exchange of the rings. The ancient Egyptians gave these never-ending bands as symbols of eternal love. The Romans wore wedding rings cast of iron, signifying the strength and permanence of the couple's bond, on the third finger of the left hand. They believed that a vein in this finger, known as the _vena amoris_, led directly to the heart of the beloved._" Here Seymour stopped for a moment. "Now we have gold rings, which are a lot prettier." Michael rolled his eyes and Fiona tried not to laugh. Seymour, oblivious, went on, "_You have chosen to exchange wedding rings as symbols of your love for one another. They will be a reminder of this day, as well as your complete commitment to each other. When you look at these rings, remember not only this promise, but also the lifetime of happiness and love that all of us here today wish for you._" He nodded at Sam to bring the box with the rings over between the two of them. "And I'm not just saying that," he added. "We all do wish the best for both of you. So to consolidate here, Michael, please place this ring on Fiona's finger. And Fiona, please place this ring on Michael's finger."

They did, and took hands again.

"Now, both of you, please repeat after me …

_With this ring,_

_I give you my promise_

_That from this day forward_

_You shall not walk alone._

_With this ring,_

_I thee wed._

Michael blew it on the last line. He kept it quiet, but Fiona could swear she heard him say, "I Fi wed," which, while wrong, was at least appropriate. Sam and Nate were grinning at each other conspiratorially, Katya gave Fiona a tiny double thumbs-up, Liam smiled brightly, and Madeline, to no one's surprise, was crying.

"All right, home stretch!" Seymour said, looking slightly misty-eyed himself. "Here we go. _What we have joined together today, let no man put asunder. Michael and Fiona have promised each other their love with the joining of hands and the exchange of rings. I therefore, with the sanction of the State of Florida, and the glad affirmation of family and friends, pronounce them husband and wife._" He stuffed the now hopelessly crapped-up piece of paper back in his pocket. "You two know what to do. Go for it."

This was the only part of the ceremony that Michael had any confidence in. He swept Fiona up into his arms and they kissed passionately. Everyone else in attendance made a surprisingly loud ruckus, considering there were only six other people there, clapping and whistling. The kiss broke after a decent amount of time and Fiona whispered something in Michael's ear that made him nod in approval. They took hands and led the way out of the pool area back to Seymour's house, where a light dinner waited.

Liam and Katya stayed behind Fiona, trying to keep her train from falling in the pool. Sam and Nate couldn't wipe the grins off their faces and Madeline was pulling herself together on Nate's arm. Jackass brought up the rear, head tilted up proudly, doing his best to give them some dignified bongo exit music.

THE END


End file.
